


A Study in Freedom

by Metronome_I_Hear



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And then it was reborn, Asexual Cloud Strife, Because you cannot tell me that Genesis would not be ALL OVER how different magic is, Bisexual Genesis Rhapsodos, But he's the only one who remembers, Culture Shock, Differing Morals, Discussions of PTSD, Don't expect crack, Don't worry he remembers again, Exploring magic systems, Gen, Genesis does what he wants, Genesis isn't the only one reborn, Harry is Genesis, He forgets being Harry, I'm debating bringing Vincent into this, It's Genesis what did you expect, MUAHAHAHAHA, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reincarnation, Serious take on a SOLDIER being reborn into the HP verse, Terminal Illnesses, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Dementor attack makes him remember, The World ended, The world of FFVII was not a happy place, and it shows, eventually, gratuitous use of poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metronome_I_Hear/pseuds/Metronome_I_Hear
Summary: "I was a fool, for when I gazed upon those wings I thought, ‘Angel’." ~Silver Elite Official TumblrGenesis is a SOLDIER. Being uprooted from his own world and reborn countless millennia in the future doesn't change that.





	1. The War of the Beasts

When Cloud vanishes from the camp, it is Genesis who goes to find him. 

Once upon a time it might have been someone else--Vincent, probably, and failing that Tifa. They seemed to be the only ones Cloud would let find him when he was in one of his moods. Now, however, there is only Cloud and Genesis and the camp they watch over. For all that the civilians and the fighters they care for look at Cloud and Genesis with awe, they were always hesitant to go find Cloud when he wanders off. It is a very distant sort of reverence. So it is Genesis who goes looking, and no one else, and that was the way things were.

Genesis finds Cloud sitting on the edge of a cliff not far from the camp. He sits with First Tsurugi laid on the ground beside him within easy grabbing distance, and his legs over the edge. His shoulders are slumped, he’s leaning on his hands behind him, and his face is lit up by the dying light of the sun. 

He looks like a distant god sitting on a crumbling throne, Genesis muses. One who’s kingdom had been reduced to naught but ash and dust. 

( _ And perhaps that is true in a way, with how much Cloud has lost since this slow crawl of an apocalypse began _ )

Genesis walks forward and stands next to Cloud, his steps measured and even. He stares out into the wastes, watching nothing move, not even the wind. These moments between one monster attack and the next rung with the eerie silence of the calm before a storm, and Genesis can all but feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the electricity in the air.

“How long?” Cloud asks, not looking at Genesis not giving any other acknowledgement he knew the other was there.

“We have enough water to last another two weeks,” Genesis informs him, deliberately misinterpreting the question. “And food to last another five days.”

All canned goods, raided from the small village not far from here. Some of it had rotted, but the rest would be good enough to feed the children and keep the people going, if only for a little while longer.

Cloud remains silent and still, before speaking once more. “You know that’s not what I meant.” His tone is flat, the sound wrought with defeat.

“Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul. Pride is lost. Wings stripped away, the end is nigh,” is his response. Cloud snorts.

But it wouldn’t be long now. The only source of clean water they had left was no longer usable. They only had five days worth of food left, and no source to gather more. It wasn’t like anything grew anymore, and hunting monsters to eat them ended in naught but madness. Humans could last a month without food so long as they had water, and they could only last three days without water. Five days of food. Two weeks of water. And that wasn’t even considering the monsters mutated by mako attacking their settlements, or the strange madness that plagued their people, making them as mindless as the Mako Mutants outside their camp.

No, it wouldn’t be very long at all before everything was over.

“Cloud?” Genesis watches as the sun vanishes over the horizon, leaving the world lit only by the moon and the stars and listens for Cloud’s answering hum. “I’m glad I met you.”

_ Even if I won’t get to know you for much longer,  _ goes unsaid. 

…

_ “Quick, he’s crashing!” _

Someone is yelling above his head, voice oddly muted through the haze of pain and nausea. Genesis groans, opening his eyes as he tries to figure out were he is and what’s going on.

_ “We’re losing him, come on, come on!” _

The world around him is blurry, and his stomach lurches with sickening movement. His fingers twitch and it sends agony down his arms. “Ah-!” he gasps for breath, suddenly unable to breathe for all that he’s trying, his lungs heaving, gasping, and--he jolts, like lightning rushed through his veins.

_ “Where's that potion I asked for?! Mckenzie!” _

Everything burns, from the pit of his stomach to the farthest reaches of his limbs to the forefront of his brain. He seizes, and feels hands grip his limbs and hold him down.

_ “Don’t worry kid, you’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you.” _

…

At the first sound of screaming, Genesis’ eyes snap open and he’s rolling off his cot. Rapier is in hand in an instant, and he’s already turning towards the entrance to the tent when Kevin rushes through the flap, sheer panic on his face. 

“They’ve invaded the camp! They’re swarming!” He yells, red faced and wild-eyed. Genesis opens his mouth to order him back out there--he can tell they’re being attacked, thank you very much, he can hear the screaming--when a clawed hand plunges through Kevin’s chest from behind.

Genesis doesn’t waste time morning. There’s no point when the man’s body is tossed to the side carelessly by the beast that killed him. No point when the monster swipes at him with intent to kill him next. No point when Genesis cuts the Mako Mutant down with a precise swing of his sword.

He’s already lost too many people. He doesn’t want to lose any more.

( _ There were moments when he thought back to his days at Shin-Ra, to those afternoons spent in the training room after all the Seconds had left and the three of them had claimed it for their own, and his entire body aches like an old wound that refused to heal _ )

Genesis is outside a heartbeat later, screams of the dying ringing in his ears, inhuman cries joining them in some twisted symphony. He leaps forth, a firaga burning in one hand and his sword at ready in the other, and joins the fray. 

One monster cut down. Then two. He ducks under an attack, lets his firaga loose, and a third corpse lies on the ground. 

“Get the civilians to safety!” He barks at the guards who’ve been struggling against the Mutants. They nod hurriedly, before rushing off. Genesis turns his attention back to the monsters.

They’re everywhere. He doesn't think he’s ever seen monsters in such high concentrations before--not since he was eighteen and the Wutains tried leading a stampede of them to break a Shin-Ra blockade. He’s not sure how many people will be able to survive this. He doubts it’ll be many.

A twist and a leaping Mutant fall to the ground split in two. A flick of the wrist and another joins it. Fire and the monsters burn. A civilian gets grabbed by one, and it too joins its brethren on the ground. He only pays attention to the civilian long enough to make sure they’re out of range before he brings lightning down around him.

He spreads his wing and takes to the sky, using aerial strikes to clear pathways for the fleeing civilians and guard what few fighters they have left. Feathers fly down like arrows and sink deeply into crystallized flesh. The mutant’s screams are like music, like rapture.

_ Take that, you monsters, _ he thinks, a little hysterically.  _ Feel the pain you have caused me. The pain you have caused us all. _

“Genesis!” He hears Cloud call out and sees him standing amidst a field of gore. “Look out!” he’s screaming. There is panic on Cloud’s face and--

Pain.

Pain pain pain pain.

He falls and the world goes black.

( _ The last thing he sees is the blue of an endless sky _ )

…

The room he wakes in smells something like antiseptic, with a scent not unlike the clean smell of ozone lingering just under that. His head pounds with what would have been the mother of all hangovers if the mako in his blood would actually let him get drunk. He feels nauseous, and when he shifts to try and sit up his stomach lurches in both warning and protest. He opens his eyes to an unfamiliar white ceiling, the image blurry with the haze of sleep.

He groans, clenching and unclenching his fingers and grimacing at how sore he feels. The last time he felt this bad was after his first Mako enhancements. Though he recalls the boosters had all been awful as well. If there was one good thing about having defected and Shin-Ra falling, it was the fact there were no more bi-annually required booster shots.

“Where?” He mumbles to himself, trying to get a better look at where he was. It looked almost like a hospital of some sort, but that was impossible. There were no hospitals left. But the walls were painted white, the smell of antiseptic stung his sensitive nose, and he could hear chatter in the hall.

“His fever’s broken and he’s doing much better now than he was yesterday, might even wake soon with how much better he’s been.” The voice belongs to a woman, and it sounds like it was right outside his door. The door knob turns and the door itself opens to reveal two people--a man and a woman, both wearing what looked like some kind of uniform. “Lucky, with how touch and go he was for a--” The woman looks over to where Genesis was laid out on a hospital bed, and cuts herself off. “You’re awake!” She exclaims instead.

Genesis grimaces. “Not so loud,” he demands. Obviously she had no idea how sensitive the hearing of a SOLDIER could be. Not that there were many of them left, these days. 

The woman smiles softly, “My apologies. Hearing still sensitive?” She walks over to the bed, pulling an oddly carved stick from a pocket in her robes. She starts waving it in strange patterns in the air above Genesis, muttering nonsense all the while, and Genesis felt the tell tale tingle of mana wash across his senses. A type of focus? Was there materia set into that stick?

“Only as much as it ever is,” Genesis responds. “Where am I?”

The man still hovering by the door answers. “You’re in St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.” Genesis has never heard of it. It was a strange name, too, and sounds specialized. Magical Maladies and Injuries? Were they a hospital that specializes in damage done by materia? “What’s the last thing you remember?” The man finally steps into the room, closing the door behind him, and walks to stand by the woman 

“I was fighting,” he tells the man. “Our camp was attacked by the Mako Mutants and we were overrun. What happened to the camp? Are there any other survivors?” And how, for that matter, had these people been able to rescue him in the first place?

Both the man and the woman pause to stare at him in silence for a moment. They exchange a glance. Genesis frowns at the reaction. Something was wrong here. 

The woman licks her lips, frowning. “Um-” she starts, her brows furrowing. “What exactly do you mean by your camp was attacked by Mako Mutants?”

Genesis narrows his eyes at her. “I mean exactly that. It was nearly 0600 hours, when I first heard the screams. I grabbed my blade and one of the guardsmen came to inform me of the attack. He was killed immediately after. I directed the remaining guards to bring the civilians of the camp to safety, before taking to the fray myself. The last thing I remember is one of my comrades--”  _ Genesis, look out! _ “--calling out a warning to me.”

The woman appears rather pale as she turns to the man. “Go get Healer Peters.” The man nods and rushes out of the room like a guard hound in on his heels.

“What’s going on?” Genesis demands. He hates not knowing what was happening. Not knowing did nothing but get everyone killed. Wutai had taught him that much. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” the woman starts, before stopping and grimacing. “You weren’t sent here because of Mako Mutants--” Her expression says she isn’t entirely sure what Mako Mutants were, which was impossible because Mako Mutants were everywhere and weren’t exactly a new thing. Genesis remembers going on missions to dispatch them, way back when he still worked for Shin-Ra.  “--but because you were attacked by dementors. You had an adverse reaction to nearly having been given a dementor’s kiss, and it required immediate treatment.”

“Dementors kiss? What is a dementor?” Genesis asks, his mind racing.

“A dementor is a dark creature. They suck the happiness out of those they encounter, and feed on human souls. The act of a dementor sucking out a human’s soul is called a dementor’s kiss,” the woman explains. She speaks haltingly, as if she isn’t entirely sure she should be speaking. 

Genesis doesn’t have time to process this before the door opens again, bringing the man from before as well as another man in a differently colored uniform than the first. Genesis supposes this was Healer Peters. Peters pulls another odd stick from the pocket of his robes and waves it over Genesis’s body, speaking as he did so. “Good day. My name is Frank Peters, and I’m a Healer here at St Mungo’s. I was assigned as the head healer on your case. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”

“Go ahead,” Genesis says, wary. 

“What is your name?”

“Genesis Rhapsodos.” Genesis doesn’t miss the shocked expression that fits over the faces of the original man and woman, though Healer Peters seems unphased.

“Age?”

“36.” More shocked expressions, though Peters was once again unphased.

“Birthplace?” 

“Banora.”

“Where did you receive your schooling?”

Genesis raises a brow. How was that relevant? “I received basic education in Banora, and advanced education in Midgar.”

“I see.” Peters lowers his wand and gives Genesis a measuring look. “Are you familiar with the names Cornelius Fudge, Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley?”

“No."

Peters nods, as if that was exactly as he expected. “Well, Mr. Rhapsodos, I’m sorry to inform you that you have died and been reincarnated.”

...What?

“Excuse me?” Genesis looks at the man incredulously. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that?”

“Not right away, certainly not,” Peter responds without skipping a beat. “But once the situation has been properly explained, I expect that you will. Ten days ago, we received word that a 15 year old boy by the name of Harry Potter was attacked by dementors and needed immediate treatment. He was brought here, suffering from high fever, convulsions, severe dementor over exposure, and the effects of an interrupted dementor’s kiss. It is this last symptom that is the most relevant at the moment. A dementor’s kiss is, in essence, the removal of the soul from the host body. An interrupted kiss can do a number of things to the soul and the body. There are various effects that it can have on the body’s magic and the person’s memories in particular. One effect that it can have, though it isn’t all that common of one, is the remembrance of a previous life.”

“So you’re telling me,” Genesis hisses out the words, “That the trauma of nearly being  _ kissed  _ made me forget my life as this ‘Harry Potter’ and remember a past life instead?”

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.” Peters folds his hands in front of him, the stick pointed down at the floor. “There are a few other effects that are likely to occur as well, one of which is already visible.”

Genesis narrows his eyes. “What effects?”

“Your eyes,” Peters informs him. He waves the stick with a muttered nonsense word, and a mirror appears in his hands. He holds it out to Genesis, who takes it warily. “They used to be green.”

There, in the mirror, is an unfamiliar face. It is a face belonging to a boy not yet a man. Dark, unruly hair frames his face, and a faded scar sits on his forehead. He reaches up with a hand to touch his cheeks, cheeks which haven’t quite lost all their baby fat just yet, and the boy in the mirror copies him. It’s not an entirely unfamiliar face, though. He has the same high cheek bones, the same slope of his nose, though his eyes are wider than he remembers them ever being, and he doesn’t recall ever looking quite so  _ young _ .

His eyes are also bright, mako blue.

Genesis stares at the mirror. This was impossible. Simply impossible. And yet-- He takes a steadying breath and, without looking away from the mirror, speaks. “...What happens now?”

“Memories of your time as Mr Potter should return with time. Familiar spaces and people should help with this, though don’t be surprised if it takes years before you remember everything. Be patient, they will return with time. I would recommend looking into Occlumency, the art of organizing and guarding the mind from mental attacks, to help with settling the old memories with the ones you have now.” Peters’ voice is calm and professional, as if he hadn’t just torn Genesis’ world up by the roots and left him swaying in the raging winds. 

“Don’t be surprised if physical features and other things from your last life return; things like curses, hair color, and old scars for example,” Peters continues. “Other than that, you’ll have to relearn about the modern world you’ve been reborn into. I’m unfamiliar with the places you named, so by my best guess you must be from a distant past of some sort or another. Expect to need a lot of things explained in the immediate future. Mr Potter was attending a boarding school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If the style of magic you used in your last life is different from the one used now, I would recommend attending as he did, perhaps hiring extra help on the side to get you caught up on the material you’ve lost. If not, you can take the required tests at the Ministry to graduate early. Other than that, you’re magical guardian will be informed that you’ve woken and he’ll take care of getting you re-acquainted with modern society and the like.”

“Magical Guardian?”

“Albus Dumbledore,” Peters informs him. “The magical and muggle worlds--that is, those capable of using magic and those incapable of it, were separated centuries ago. Your file has you listed as living with your maternal muggle aunt, and she’s incapable of making legal decisions for you within the Wizarding world. In the case that a child either has no guardians or only has muggle ones, the headmaster of Hogwarts is set as their magical guardian.”

Separated. Magic and mundane were  _separated_. Genesis doesn’t believe it. How could something so intertwined with everyday life be separated from the rest of the world? What exactly had happened since he fell in that camp? Genesis sets down the mirror with a shaky sigh. “Why were they separated?”

“A variety of reasons, foremost among them the Witch Hunts. If you’re curious about it, there are a variety of books on the subject. I myself would recommend Debra Longbottom’s  _ Separation of Two Worlds _ . It’s an interesting read.”

Genesis nods absently, mulling over everything in his head. 

“I’ll let you rest and have someone bring a set of clean clothing for you later. Good day, Mr Rhapsodos.” Peters nods his head in farewell and leaves the room, the two others following closely behind.

Genesis lays his head back on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling.  _ “My friend, the fates are cruel…” _

No one answers him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time I ventured into the FFVII HP crossover section on FFnet, I found a wonderful story called _Never a Memory._ Then I found another called _Donum Deae._ And another called _The REBORN SOLDIER._ And another. And another... And I thought they were nice. The idea was interesting, but they were all the same. They were all crackish and it got... tiring? to see the same idea executed again and again with the same sort of tone.
> 
> That's why I'm writing this. I want to see a serious take on a SOLDIER being reborn as Harry and there weren't any. Obviously, that means I have to write it myself. Here's to hoping I can get it right.  
>    
> [Tumblr](https://metronomeihear.tumblr.com)


	2. Meetings and Revelations

What do you do when everything you have ever known no longer exists? 

There is no mention of Midgar in this book, Genesis thinks as he stares at the open pages of  _ A Wizard’s History of the World _ lying in his lap. There is no mention of mako or the Wutai War. Nothing of materia, nothing of the Cetra, nothing of JENOVA and all she had wrought. 

Nothing of the horrors of Shin-Ra, of how they once ruled the world, of how quickly they fell.

_ No, _ he thinks, his hands trembling, his world shuddering.  _ There is nothing at all. _

…

_ Legend shall speak, Of sacrifice at world’s end-- _

A bomb explodes somewhere in the trees and Genesis gasps, pushing his back against the rough bark and gripping his side. “Come on, come on,” he mumbles, eyes darting frantically around. He breathes harshly and fumbles for his Cure, blood dripping through his fingers and splattering on the ground. 

People--SOLDIERS, regulars, civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time--scream in the background. A Wutain war cry rings in his ears, and the clash of metal sparks somewhere to his left. He takes out the materia and it melts in his hands, cool material dripping through his fingers like thick sludge or molten slag somehow cold to the touch. 

“No, no!” He drops to his knees and scratches at the ground, desperately trying to gather the green liquid, blood pooling around his knees, his legs, his feet as he claws at it and it begins to bubble up and swallow him whole--

_ The wind sails over the water’s surface-- _

He drowns in it, in the green light, the green, green light. He floats in it, in those endless depths, in the silence that rings as if it had always been there, would always be there and-- 

“Genesis,” a voice reaches his ears, and it sounds like home, like days spent under an apple tree dreaming of heroes and fame. “Genesis?” He turns around to try and look at the source, look at the source of this familiar, comforting voice that he hadn’t heard in so long, why  _ hadn’t he heard it in so long, why did you have to die, Ange--  _

“We are,” a twisted reflection of his own face says to him instead, hair streaked with gray, face decorated with wrinkles, black wing stretched out and faded, coat cracked and dirty and grey. “Monsters.”

_ Quietly, but surely-- _

Black feathers rush up to swarm his vision as everything goes black.

…

“Hello, my boy.”

Genesis looks up from _ Wizarding Britain: A Brief History _ at the man who’d entered his room. He already knew he was there. He’d heard the man’s footsteps echo down the hall, as well as the door opening. Smelled him, too. A scent sweet like candy and decay, with a sharper undertone of ozone, or something akin to it. The smell of magic. 

The man is old, very old, and dressed in the most eye searing clothing Genesis has ever seen. He briefly ponders setting it on fire, before reminding himself that someone was actually  _ wearing  _ it, though only the goddess knew why. If this was modern fashion, then Genesis wonders at the sanity of the current generation.

Genesis snaps his book shut, the click sounding loud in the room. “I am not,” he says slowly, deliberately enunciating each word, “your ‘boy’.”

( _ “I created you!” Hollander screams in his memory. _

_ “Maybe so,” Genesis hisses back. “But I was never yours.” _ )

The old man smiles gently, his eyes twinkling, and Genesis is instantly on edge. “Then would you prefer Harry or Genesis?”

Genesis smiles back, thinning his lips. “How about we start with Mr Rhapsodos and move from there?”

The old man nods easily enough and walks into the room, closing the door behind him. “I heard you relapsed with another fever yesterday.”

Genesis had. He’d woken from a fever dream feeling cold and aching all over, the nausea bad enough he kept throwing up the potions the Healers kept forcing down his throat to help. Why they didn’t just set up an IV line, he doesn’t know. The stupidity of the masses is his only guess. It seemed however much time had passed since his last life and this one, that, at least, hadn’t changed. 

But that didn’t explain why this man knows about that. He certainly isn’t a Healer, not with those robes. “And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?”

“Ah.” The old man blinks, as if surprised. Then he chuckles. “Forgive an old man. It’s not often I have to reintroduce myself to one of my own students. My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“My magical Guardian.” Genesis nods his head. “Then you’re here to ‘catch me up’ with the modern world?”

Dumbledore nods and smiles again. “I am.” He nods towards the pile of books on Genesis’ bedside table. “I see you got the books Miss Granger put together for you. She’s been quite distraught since we received the news of the attack.”

And who exactly is Miss Granger? “Yes… I assume she is one of my… current self’s friends?” 

“Yes. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, they are Harry’s two best friends.” Dumbledore pauses. “Would you mind if I take a seat?”

Genesis raises a brow. “Where?” He drawls, looking at the seatless room. Unless Dumbledore intended to try and sit on the bed, in which case the two of them were going to have  _ problems. _

Dumbledore pulls another of those sticks--they were called wands, apparently--out of his monstrosity of a fashion statement and waves to to conjure an overstuffed armchair. Genesis blinks at the display--the spells they cast with wands seemed to grow more varied by the day--but otherwise doesn’t react as Dumbledore settles himself down onto the seat cushion.

“Now, Mr Rhapsodos,” Dumbledore starts. “There are a great number of things that you need to be informed of before you leave this hospital. Harry was not leading a kind life. There was a reason he was attacked.”

“Then these attacks aren’t common?”

Dumbledore blinks owlishly, looking honestly surprised Genesis had thought so. “Common? Thank Merlin, no.” He shakes his head. “Dementors rarely leave Azkaban.”

Genesis watches him carefully. “Then why was I attacked?”

“A number of years ago, Magical Britain was at war.”  _ Of course it was, _ Genesis thinks sarcastically. “The man we fought was a Dark Lord known as Voldemort. He terrorized Britain for a number of years, and a great many people died. Until one day, he was suddenly defeated.”

“Let me guess.” Genesis sets the book in his lap, leaning back against the pillows. “I had something to do with his defeat?”

“It was fourteen years ago, on October 31st, 1981. Voldemort appeared before the home of young Harry Potter. He murdered both of his parents with the killing curse, but when he turned his wand upon their son, you, the curse rebounded and destroyed him instead.”

“I see… I’m assuming his supporters weren’t very happy with that.” So he is a political figure, responsible for bringing an end to the leader of a rebellion. The dementor attack was probably an assassination attempt that went wrong. But something occurred to him. Healer Peters said Harry Potter was only fifteen. That…  _ he _ was only fifteen. Wouldn’t that mean that he is being credited for defeating this ‘Dark Lord’ when he was only a toddler? He doubts even Sephiroth would be able to accomplish such a feat, for all that his accomplishments had grown more and more absurd.

Dumbledore nods. “Indeed they weren’t. It was for that reason you were placed with your muggle aunt, away from Wizarding society. The protections in place there were enough to keep you hidden from any who meant you harm.”

“Until now.” Genesis sighs dramatically. “With the attack, it would mean the location has been compromised, and thus no longer serviceable to keep me hidden. Do you have another safe house?”

A flicker of uncertainty flashes across Dumbledore’s face, but was gone the instant it appeared. Genesis hides a smirk. They are underestimating him if they think he couldn’t infer that much from the information given. It’s been more than fifteen years, but never let it be said that he hadn’t been just as good of a General as Sephiroth had ever been.

“I do. For your safety, I cannot tell you where it is at the current time--” Obviously. If they are still playing assassination games fourteen years after the fact, Genesis wouldn’t be surprised if the entire hospital is bugged from top to bottom. “But rest assured that as soon as the Healers release you, you will be brought there.” Dumbledore pauses. “There are a few more things you should know.”

Genesis raises a brow. “Well? What are they?”

“Voldemort is not dead.”

Because of course he isn’t. 

… 

Hermione sits on the couch in the reception room, wringing the hem of her shirt in her hands. Ron glances at her from beside her, but she can’t bring herself to reassure him right in that moment. She is too stressed, to wrung out, to--she didn’t know. Apprehensive maybe? 

Harry, her first ever friend and easily one of her greatest, had been in the hospital for 15 days. He’d only been conscious for 5 of those.

( _ “There’s been an attack,” Professor Dumbledore tells them, voice quiet and solemn. “Harry is in St Mungos.” _ )

He’s coming to the Order’s Headquarters today. It’s been five days since he woke up, and this is the first time she’ll be able to see him again. The first time since they said goodbye on the platform, at the end of last year. The first time since he smiled at her despite how much Cedric’s death and Voldemort’s return was affecting him and wished her a good summer. The first time since--

Harry was nearly kissed by a dementor.

The first time since Harry nearly died.

It wasn't like that was anything new. Harry had nearly died every year since she met him and there were a fair few times when she had nearly died right along with him. The troll incident in their first year sprang to mind, and it is with the ease of long practice she shoves the memory of terror and shattered porcelain and the smell of rotten eggs into the depths of her mind. There was also the basilisk in second year, poor Lupin in third--

It wasn’t anything new. Logically she knows that. But she had long since learned that emotions were anything but logical and every single time Harry came back to them covered in scratches, or dirt, or blood, or-- _ something, _ fresh from yet another brush from death, something in her chest seized. 

And this time he wasn’t walking away mostly fine. Wasn’t walking away with nothing but a few superficial wounds and a tired grin. No, he’d gone and lost all his memories of being Harry.

She still isn’t sure what to feel about that.

She knows it was a possibility. Academically, at least. She’d researched dementors and their effects quite thoroughly back in third year when Hogwarts had played host to hundreds of them. It wasn’t an unheard of side effect of an interrupted kiss, just an uncommon one. The shock of the removal and sudden return of a soul sometimes traumatized it enough that it reached further back into its history, retrieving memories of a lifetime capable of handling the pain, often forgetting the current life in the process. 

These people often woke as warriors or politicians or scholars from distant pasts, confused and disorientated at suddenly waking up in a younger body in a new century. There were cases of this resulting in downspiralling behavior, a rejection of what was in front of them versus what had been, the memories of the past and the present clashing until it resulted in insanity. And others still where they simply reintegrated back into modern society, returning to the lives their current selves had built, past and present merging seamlessly into one. There was even a case where a woman was a sellcrafter in her past life, and she brought a number of old, forgotten spells back into circulation, thus bettering society with her knowledge of past spell crafting practices.

She wonders what Harry was like in his past life. What he is like now, as Genesis Rhapsodos.

The fire in the fireplace flares high and bright and green. Sirius whispers an excited, “He’s here, he’s here!” and all eyes in the room are trained on the Floo to see who would come through.

The first person who appears is Dumbledore, who greets them with a nod before stepping aside. Then comes Professor Lupin, his expression tired but unworried. Then--

Then comes Harry.

He’s sitting in a wheelchair, his expression seemingly bored. His shoulders are relaxed and his posture loose, but his eyes are sharp and watchful. She watches as he scans the room, barely noticing Tonks pushing the wheelchair out of the Floo, and Moody appearing from the flames just after that.

He’s… different. His hair lies a bit flatter than she’s ever seen it before, and Harry never held himself like he does now, loose and ready and somehow dangerous. The most immediate thing that jumps out at her though, is--

“Blimey, mate. You’re eyes! They’re glowing!” Ron exclaims beside her, eyes wide. Harry--Genesis, Hermione corrects herself, not Harry--raises a brow. 

“So they are,” he drawls, sounding somewhat amused. 

They are, though. Glowing. Bright enough that in the dim light of the Black’s reception room, it’s immediately obvious to everyone in the room. She doubts it would be very noticeable in broad daylight, or someplace more brightly lit, but regardless they glow.

“Can you tell us why?” Ginny asks from somewhere behind Hermione.

Genesis eyes them for a moment, before apparently conceding to their curiosity. “My friend, your desire, is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess.” Hermione blinks. A poem? “They glow because of mako enhancements. It’s a remnant of my last life, and the reason it’s taking me so long to recover.”

“Mako?” Hermione asks, furrowing her brows as she tries to remember if she’s ever heard the term before. She doesn’t think she has.

Genesis rests his head in the palm of his hand, perching his elbow against the arm rest of his wheelchair. “It’s a liquid found beneath the earth that was commonly refined and used for energy back in my time, among other things. One of those other things was enhancements. One of the side effects of exposure is glowing eyes.”

A liquid found beneath the ground, commonly refined into energy and other things? Was it like oil then? Refined into everything from plastic to gas to medicine? She’s never heard of a liquid that caused things to glow, nevermind  _ eyes, _ but she knows there are substances called fluors that glowed when they were mixed with radiation. Was it similar to that? She makes a note to ask him later, though briefly she wonders if he even has a concept of what radiation  _ was, _ considering she had no idea when his last life had taken place, other than the fact he had never heard of Hogwarts before.

“Enough of that,” Moody grumbles, though he’s eyeing Genesis with undisguised suspicion. Hermione thinks he’s probably more stuck on the enhancements part of Genesis’ explanation than the mako parts. “Re-introduce yourselves. Boy doesn’t remember any of you.”

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron speaks up with a somewhat nervous smile. “We’re best mates.” 

“I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione follows.

“Ginny Weasley.”

““We’re Gred and Forge.””

“Oh, don’t you two start with that now! They’re Fred and George, Harry. I’m Molly Weasley.”

“Arthur Weasley. Good to see you out of St Mungos, Harry.”

“I’m Sirius Black,” Sirius says, stepping forward with a nervous step. “I’m your godfather.”

“I see,” Genesis says. He scans them all again, before smiling and lifting his head from his palm. “My name is Genesis Rhapsodos. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

…

He has a godfather.

It is this thought that plays in his mind as the woman who introduced herself as Molly Weasley shows him to the room he’ll be sleeping in--the only bedroom on the ground floor, to help accommodate him until he could walk for long periods of time without assistance. He is looking forward to the day he can. Recovering from mako enhancements is a pain, and he isn’t enjoying going through that period a second time. Because that’s what all this was, really. The reaction of a body completely unprepared for it, suddenly receiving SOLDIER First Class enhancements. In all honesty, it surprises him he’s alive at all.

After he’s left alone in his room, he thinks back to the somewhat wild looking man who introduced himself as his godfather. Sirius Black, his name was. He wonders why Dumbledore is his magical guardian when he obviously has a magical godfather. As the magical and mundane were supposedly--and he still didn’t quite believe it--separated, he doubts Sirius was incapable of using magic in some form or another. Did godparents have no legal authority? Or was there some other reason for Dumbledore having the position he does?

For a moment, he recalls his own parents. How distant they had seemed as a child looking up at them as his role models, and how proud they had looked when he marched off to Mideel with Angeal at his back to join SOLDIER in Midgar. How terrified they had seemed when he held Rapier to their throats and killed them.

He feels cold. Tired and cold. He hates having to wonder who to trust and who not too, for all that he had once revealed in it. How he’d changed, he muses, from his days at Shin-Ra.

_ No matter, _ he thinks.  _ I’ll find the truth sooner or later.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, more exposition and explanations, but unfortunately it is necessary given Genesis needs to be told a lot of things. He hasn't quite gained his footing just yet, either, so he's being cautious. Things should start to pick up soon. 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments! I don't deserve your praise!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://metronomeihear.tumblr.com)


	3. Gifts of the Goddess

Genesis wakes to the smell of bacon, eggs, sausages, and coffee.

His ears pick of the sounds of plates and glass clinking as it’s set on the table, and for a moment Genesis can believe that when he opens his eyes he will be in his room in Seventh Heaven. That he will be able to walk down the stairs and have Tifa greet him with a grin, to see Cloud sitting at the table, one of those gentle smiles on his face. To have Marlene and Denzel call out a greeting at him before they rush off to school.

Then he opens his eyes and the spell is broken. He’s not sleeping in his bed in Seventh Heaven--no, Seventh Heaven no longer existed. It burned when Edge burned, in those earlier days of the apocalypse.

For a moment, he lies there and allows himself to mourn better days. Then, he forces himself to get up.

His stomach lurches when he sits up, but gives no further protest than that. He feels a bit light headed, but it wasn’t bad enough that Genesis would allow himself to lie in bed. He is finally free of the hospital, and he intends to take advantage of that.

The wheelchair Healer Peters gave him, the one that had been charmed for easy use, is next to the bed. Genesis swings his legs over the side of the bed and allows himself to rest like that for a moment, so the dizziness would pass him by. Then, he grips the headboard with one hand, one of the wheelchair’s arms with the other, and lifts himself into the seat. He collapses on top of it and lets his head fall back, annoyed with how exhausted the simple act of getting into a wheelchair made him.

“Truly, I am the strongest,” he grouches to himself, before lifting his head once more and wheeling himself out of the room.

He follows the smell of breakfast foods and finds the kitchen. Within it, Molly Weasley is frying what smells like bacon, and more food sits hot and ready on the table.

“Mrs. Weasley?” he says to attract her attention. She startles and turns.

“Harry! Good morning.” Mrs Weasley smiles wide when she sees him. She briefly turns back to the stove to take the bacon off the fire so it doesn’t burn, before turning back to him. “Did you sleep well, dear?”

“I did,” Genesis tells her.

“That’s good to hear,” she says, her eyes soft. “Would you like some food, dear? I’m just finishing up making it. The others should be up soon, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you started eating without them.”

Genesis looks to the table laden with food, the smell of sausages and toast heavenly in the air, and thinks of nights going hungry so the children of the camp could eat, of rationing everyone’s meals so they wouldn’t run out of food before they could gather more. He thinks of Marlene’s face, gaunt with hunger, and Cloud’s expression on that cliff, just before the end.

He honestly can’t remember the last time he had a full meal. It must have been before the fall of Edge, when they still thought things could be fixed.

“Yes,” he says, a little distantly, “I would.”

( _“What are we going to do?” Tifa asks them. “How are we supposed to keep these people alive if we have nothing to feed them? When supplies run out, what are we supposed to tell them? We’re sorry, but there’s no food left, you’ll just have to starve?”_ )

“Harry?”

Genesis breaks out of his thoughts and glances at Mrs Weasley. She’s pulled one of the chairs away from the table to make room for his wheelchair, and is standing there with a concerned expression on her face. “Are you alright, dear?”

“I-” The words catch in his throat, so Genesis breaks himself off and nods sharply. “Yes,” he says, and this time the words come easier. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just... been a while since I last was able to eat like this.” He wheels himself to the table, and then starts picking things to put on his plate. Toast and scrambled eggs. Strawberries, blackberries, a bit of jam for his toast. He eyes the coffee, before deciding against it. “Do you have any peppermint tea?”

Mrs Weasley frowns, but doesn’t press. Instead, she answers his question, and for that Genesis is grateful. He doesn't want to try and explain to this, for all intents and purposes, stranger about the things he endured in the months leading up to the end. “We do. Would you like me to make you some?”

He nods. “If you would.”

She smiles at him again, somewhat sadly this time, before turning to do as he asked. While he waits, Genesis takes a bite of toast with blackcurrant jam. The flavor is sharp and sour-sweet on his tongue, and it tastes a little like the heaven.

 _There is no hate, only joy,_ he thinks to himself as he takes a second bite, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor of real food, _For you are beloved by the goddess._

Mrs Weasley sets a mug of steaming peppermint tea down in front of him. “Here you go, Harry. Is there anything else you’d like?”

Genesis glances at her and nods. “Yes, there is.” He sets down his toast to cradle the mug of tea in his hands. “I’m going to have to ask you call me Genesis instead of Harry.”

“Oh! I- uh.” Mrs Weasley looks startled once more, and her fingers flutter for a bit before settling. “Certainly, yes. I can do that. Yes.”

She is frowning, her eyebrows furrowed. Genesis watches her carefully. “Genesis is what I’ve gone by for more than 30 years," he says. "It seems strange to change it now, when I don’t remember the reason for the change.”

Mrs Weasley shakes her head. “No, no,” she assures him. “It’s perfectly alright. It’ll just take a bit of getting used to is all.” She pauses, and then asks, “30 years?”

Genesis nods. “I was 36 when I died.” Died. It was difficult to believe that he had. A part of him still half expects to wake back in the camp again, to find the last five days has been nothing more than a strange dream. He’d wake on his cot and find Kevin outside his tent, a tired greeting on his lips. Cloud would find him and the two of them would have what little breakfast they could before heading off to do their daily duties.

The world would still be ending, there would be no foreign people wielding strange magics telling him he’d been reborn, and there would be no political struggles to worry about. Just supply problems and Mako Mutants and keeping watch for those who caught the madness.

But no. This was real. There was no turning back.

“So young…” Mrs Weasley says, her expression pained. “You still had your whole life ahead of you.”

“I suppose…” says Genesis. He doesn’t want to talk about this any longer. No, he thinks he’d rather test the waters on another matter. “Mrs Weasley, there is something I’ve been wondering since yesterday.”

“Call me Molly, dear. And you can ask me anything.”

Genesis nods. “Molly then. If I have a godfather, then why is Dumbledore my magical guardian? Do godparents have no legal authority?”

“Why is Dumble-” Molly starts in confusion, before understanding blooms on her face and she cuts herself off. “Oh! That’s right, you wouldn’t know, would you? Sirius was wrongfully convicted of selling your parents out to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Well. This wasn’t what Genesis was expecting when he asked that question.

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Genesis frowns in confusion. What a strange thing to call someone.

“The Dark Lord,” Molly explains. “We don’t speak his name.”

Genesis looks at her in bafflement. “And why not?” He tries to picture people doing the same for Sephiroth, but fails. For all that people in his days at Shin-Ra had sometimes been scared to speak of him, or of Genesis for that matter, in the fear it might somehow summon him, they had never feared cursing his name after Genesis escaped from his self-imposed imprisonment.

Molly’s eyes went distant. “During the days of the war, the Death Eaters put up a spell over much of Britain that made it so if you spoke You-Know-Who’s name, Snatchers would appear and take you. People are terrified of saying it because of that, even to this day. Dumbledore is the only one I know brave enough to speak it, but people have always said he is the only one You-Know-Who is scared of.”

“I see.” So there was a reason. Interesting. And it is something to keep in mind, seeing as Genesis doubts he’ll be able to escape the coming war if this Dark Lord has a target painted on his back. It is entirely possible they would start using such a tactic again. Besides, he promised to protect this planet, and leaving a Dark Lord to terrorize the people was hardly protecting it. It would be remiss of a Knight of Minerva to abandon it now.

He takes a sip of his tea, and is pleased to find it's just the perfect temperature to drink. He takes a long sip, savoring the flavor and the way it settles his rolling stomach.

“Morning,” Mr. Weasley mumbles as he walks into the room. Genesis ignores him in favor of savoring his tea.

“Morning, Arthur,” Molly greets him. She walks away from Genesis to kiss the man. “Breakfast is on the table.”

“I can see that.” Mr Weasley grins. He takes a seat across from Genesis. “Morning, Harry.”

And then, before Genesis can correct him-- “Call him Genesis, dear,” Molly tells him. “He prefers it.”

Genesis smiles.

Mr Weasley blinks, seemingly surprised, but nods. “Alright,” he concedes easily. “How are you feeling today, Genesis?”

“I am doing well, all things considered,” Genesis says. He sets down his empty mug and picks his toast back up. “Is there any more tea, Molly?”

“There is.” She smiles and fetches the teapot.

…

There is a moment, when Remus first lays his eyes on Harry after the attack, where he feels a profound sense of loss.

His cub is gone, and in his place is a stranger. The way he holds himself is different, the look of his eyes is foreign. Even his very scent has changed from when Remus has seen him last, has gained an undertone almost like acid.

( _Dangerous, the wolf in him whispers. Dragon, it warns_ )

He’d pushed the feeling aside at the time, because even if Harry no longer remembers being Harry, he is still James’ cub, and Remus refuses to abandon him again. 12 years was long enough. So he introduced himself to Genesis.

“My name is Remus Lupin. I was a friend of your parents, and I’ll be teaching you magic during the summer.”

“A pleasure, Lupin,” Genesis-who-is-and-is-not-Harry ( _such an unfamiliar expression on such a familiar face_ ) replied. “I’ll look forward to working with you.”

The day after Genesis comes to Grimmauld place, Remus seeks him out to begin their lessons. They only have the remainder of the summer to get him caught up, and Remus hopes to Merlin the magic Genesis used was similar to the kind used in modern day. Remus had no idea how he was going to accomplish his task otherwise.

He finds Genesis in the Black library, wheelchair positioned near the history section and a book in his lap. “Good morning, Genesis,” Remus greets, to which Genesis makes no acknowledgment.

It’s… not the start Remus has hoped for. But Remus would make due. He always does.

So, instead of making a fuss about the lack of response, he sets down the books, takes a seat, and starts talking. “If you’re feeling up to it, I thought we could discuss some magical theory today.”

Genesis still doesn’t look up from his book. “Magical theory, hm?” He says, softly enough that Remus can tell he didn’t care if Remus heard him or not.

Then Genesis snaps the book shut, the sound loud in the room. “Tell me Lupin,” he says, looking up to gaze at the wall of books before him. “What is magic?”

Remus blinks. What is magic? What exactly did he mean by that?

Genesis went on speaking, as if he never expected Remus to answer. “These books tell us there was a time when magic was considered nothing more than the act of gods,” he says. “Miracles, performed by those more than human, something greater. But humans are very much capable of it. They are capable of creating these miracles which these gods govern over; able to manipulate the elements, or summon shields, or heal grievous wounds… What is it that allows us such dominion? Is it mana, which lurks within our bodies? What allows us to chanel it through our focuses and create such miracles as the ones we do? _What is magic?_ ”

Then Genesis looks over at Remus, his eyes glowing and blue and the change from the green Remus is so used to is still as startling as it is every other time Remus sees it. “Tell me, Lupin. What makes a wizard a wizard? What makes a wizard different from the,” he pauses and his expression is a strange one, _“muggles?”_

He waits this time, so Remus supposes he is supposed to answer, but he’s not quite sure how. It seemed perfectly obvious to him. “A wizard is different from muggles because we have magic where they do not.” There was no other definition. A wizard was a wizard because they could use magic. It was as simple as that.

Genesis smirks. “How cute,” he says and Remus bristles. “Did you know--” he continues on, as if he had never made the comment in the first place, “--that I have never before heard of someone who was completely incapable of magic?”

...What?

Remus blinks. “You’ve never heard of a muggle before?” He asks in bafflement, because that was--what? Just what? Was Genesis implying what Remus thought he was? “Are you telling me, that you come from a time when _everyone_ used magic?”

“Now now,” Genesis says, that smirk still playing on his lips. “I never said that, now did I?”

Remus furrows his brows and tries to think that statement through. “Then… Everyone was capable of it, but not everyone did?” It was a curious thought.

“Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess,” is the response he gets, which tells him absolutely nothing.

“But how?” Remus asks, still trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

“Materia,” Genesis states with all the lofty air of a scholar deigning to bestow knowledge upon his disciples. “That was what our focus was called. They looked a bit like particularly large marbles, and you could tell what type they were by their color. Green ones were referred to as magic materia, because they allowed for things like conjuring lightning, or the healing of wounds. Blue materia, on the other hand, was called support materia. They were paired with other materia to add effects. For example, when an All was paired with a Fire it allowed an attack that would usually only hit a single target, to hit all of your opponents instead.”

This was… Remus has never heard of such a thing before. But the concept is fascinating. “So you needed a different materia for each type of spell?” he asks. That must have gotten cumbersome quickly, having to carry so many with you. How would that have affected their daily use?

“Barring a few exceptions, you did,” Genesis answers, before continuing on with his lecture. “The availability of materia is in part what limited its use. Materia took hundreds, if not thousands, of years to form on their own, and manufacturing them was expensive. Not everyone could afford to buy them, and not everyone knew how to _use_ them once they were bought. The use of materia, then, was typically limited to mercenaries who needed the extra firepower, military personal who had access to Shin-Ra’s stocks, and the odd terrorist.” He pauses for a moment, that smile appearing once more. “...Until Meteor fall, that is.”

“Meteor fall?” Remus asks, drawn in and leaning forward in his seat. “What happened?”

“It was a calamity that resulted in millions of deaths, the destruction of Midgar, and the end of an era.” Genesis says dramatically. “All of a sudden the energy so commonly used to power every household, every vehicle, every piece of technology--it was gone. Humanity lost more than a hundred years of progress, and the people were plunged into a dark age.

“It was in this dark age that innovation blossomed, and the use of materia became more widespread--for they used it in the place of mako to heat their homes and to cook their food, to power their appliances and their vehicles. It was the beginning of a new age.”

Genesis turns his wheelchair so it faced not the shelf of history books, but Remus and his pile of first year charms and transfiguration books. “I was a SOLDIER, Lupin.”

A soldier? Harry was a soldier in his last life?

“I have used materia to to summon firestorms, and clouds of lightning. To create impenetrable barriers and freeze my enemies in place. To stop time, to induce poison, to heal grievous wounds. To summon monsters and tame them. To take lives and save them. I have even witnessed the aftermath of materia so powerful, it can only be referred to as ‘world ending’.”

( _Dangerous, the wolf in him whispers_ )

Genesis smiles wide.

( _For once, Remus agrees_ )

“So, Lupin,” Genesis-who-is-and-is-not-Harry says, his voice low and his eyes glittering. “Will you teach me some of your modern magic? I’d dearly like to see how it compares.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly: He was falsely convicted of selling out your parents--  
> Genesis: Ah, so nothing unusual then.  
> Molly: --to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  
> Genesis: He-Who-Must-Not-Be _what now?_
> 
> Best Mom Molly is Best Mom, and anyone who disagrees can _fight me._
> 
> Also. _Magic Systems._ You have no idea I'm looking forward to delving further into that. Genesis is too, clearly. 
> 
> [Tumblr](https://metronomeihear.tumblr.com)


	4. The Question of Language

He dreams.

He dreams of days long gone, lazy days, happy days… Days where there wasn’t a worry in the world.

There were days when he wonders how it was he got to be where he was--how he ended up lounging on the roof of Seventh Heaven, instead of camping in the caves of Banora, or voluntarily trapped beneath the surface of the ground, in a cave with a lake and not much else.

How was it that he came to feel as safe as he does here? Amidst people who once would have been an enemy he’d gladly cut down. Amidst laughter and warmth and the feeling of belonging.

“Genesis.” A voice calls to him in the dark, familiar and comforting. He lies on the roof and listens to to soothing sound, a hand stretched up towards the endless stars.

 _Once,_ he thinks, _I took this sight for granted._

And then he’d spent years in the dark, longing for even a glimpse of the sky.

“Are you ever going to come down from there?” Tifa asks him. He can picture her in his mind’s eye, her hands on her hips, one brow quirked, and an unimpressed frown on her lips. She is never one to allow moments of, what did she refer to it as? Brooding. But this is not brooding, is not a time when he is drowning in memories of darker days. No, this is revelation, of the most beautiful kind.

“Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.” He makes no move to get down, however. Not when he is as relaxed as he is.

A huff. “Fine. But if you stay up there much longer, you’ll miss dinner.”

He smiles.

He does enjoy the feeling of belonging.

( _Even if it is nothing more than remnants. Scattered pieces, clutched close to his chest, never to be let go_ )

…

Hermione hesitates at the door to the Black Library. Harry--Genesis--is supposed to be in there, learning theory with Professor Lupin. She can hear their voices through the door, muffled and animate.

What are you doing, hesitating like this? She scolds herself. This wasn’t like her. So she opens the door and takes a step inside, letting Harry’s--Genesis’--and Professor Lupin’s voices wash over her.

Apparently, they were arguing.

“Absurd. Without some form of focus, it’s impossible to  _accidentally--_ ”

“It is though! It’s common knowledge among wizards that children under the age of 11 are prone to casting--”

“And then it magically stops? For no reason?”

“Their magic settles at that age. That’s why Hogwarts first years are 11--”

Genesis scoffs. _“Their magic settles,”_ he mocks. “What chocobo shit.”

“Um?” Hermione interrupts. Two sets of eyes are suddenly turned on her, one bright blue, the other tinged with yellow gold--right, the full moon was coming up, wasn’t it?--and Hermione distantly wonders if she should have just come back later.

Her curiosity and her drive to get to know Harry--Genesis--better, diswaidss her of this however. So she steels herself and closes the door behind her, before heading further into the room. “What are you arguing about?”

Professor Lupin answers her. “Genesis seems to find it strange that children perform accidental magic.”

“Because it’s impossible.” Genesis crosses his eyes. “Magic is very much about intent coupled with a connection to the Planet--”

“The planet?” Hermione’s read a lot about magical theory since she found out she was a witch, but she’s never heard anything about a connection to the planet. A connection to the gods, yes--it was believed in ancient times that the magical core found in witches and wizards was gifted to them by the gods, and it was by worshiping those gods and following their rituals and laws that humanity was able to use magic. This was also where the stigma against squibs originated. In those days, to be born without that core, or access to that core, meant that the gods had somehow found you unworthy, thus marking you as a stain against your family. The belief of this had waned over the years, as people and their religious beliefs changed, but the stigma remained the same.

“Where to you think you got your mana from, girl?” Genesis sneers at her.

It’s a tone so rude and expression so reminiscent of a number of prejudiced wizards she’s encountered over the years that Hermione has to restrain herself from punching him.

“There is no reason to be so rude,” she snaps at him instead. “I was simply asking a clarifying question. I’ve never heard of magic being connected to the planet--”

 _“Never heard of--”_ Genesis, outraged, cuts himself off and scowls. He takes a deep breath then lets it out. “The wandering soul knows no rest,” he mutters to himself, before leaning back in his wheelchair, languid for all that he seemed tense as a coiled spring.

Professor Lupin sighs. Exhaustion lines his face. “Why do you believe accidental magic is impossible?” He sounds like this isn’t the first conversation he’s had with Genesis to go this way.

 _“As I mentioned before,”_ Genesis drawls--and the urge to punch him is back--arrogance all but dripping from his tone. “Magic is very much about intent and a connection to the Planet. Intent is something the child would have, of that there is no doubt. However, without a focus to channel that intent, there is no connection to the planet and thus no magic may be cast. I have only ever known of three people on the entire planet capable of casting without materia, and it can be argued that _none_ of them were human. Even then, those spells were always cast deliberately. The only cases of _accidental_ magic I’ve ever heard of were all done by adults, in situations of extreme emotional distress, while a focus was on their person. In short, it is impossible for a child to accidentally cast magic.”

Interesting. Hermione’s never heard of this before. “Define extreme emotional distress.”

Genesis raises a brow at her. “A woman was being raped, and set her rapist on fire.” His response is prompt. “A man witnessed his son get killed, and blew up the room. Situations like that.”

How grim.

Professor Lupin’s expression tells her he agrees. “...Were you there for either of those incidents?” He asks, his tone hesitant, and Hermione wonders why he would ask something like that.

“For the first?” Genesis’ tone is light, airy. “No. I did, however, witness the aftermath. Both the woman and the rapist had third degree burns, and the rapist died two days later. The woman lived with the scars for the rest of her life. The second one, however…” His eyes go distant. “Yes. I was there for that one.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, Hermione goes to ask more, but a sharp look from Lupin dissuades her from it. Instead, she decides to turn to the original topic at hand. “Regardless of your own experience,” she says, to which Genesis’ eyes narrow, “The fact remains it is a well known and well documented fact that children frequently perform accidental magic.”

“It’s considered a mark of pride among Pureblood families,” Professor Lupin adds. “Not using any accidental magic often means the child is a squib.”

“A squib is a child born to two magical parents incapable of using magic, correct?” Genesis sighs at their nods, scowling once more. “Honestly, this era gets stranger and stranger the longer I’m here. By the Goddess, what else has changed since I died?”

Which reminds her. “Ah, actually, Genesis? There’s something I’ve been wondering for a while now.”

“You’re desire is the bringer of life,” Genesis responds. Hermione takes that as a go ahead to start asking her questions.

“You don’t remember anything from before the incident right?” Incident. It seems such a… unsatisfactory term for it. For the dementor attack. For the day Harry forgot being Harry.

Genesis nods, so Hermione pushes on. “Then how is it you know how to speak modern English?”

It’s something that stuck her not long after Genesis came here from St Mungos. Language changed. New words and slang was invented every day, and over the course of centuries language changed enough it became unrecognizable. Knowing that, and knowing Genesis came from a distant past, how was it possible that he could speak English as well as Harry ever has?

Genesis actually looks taken aback. “English?” He says, and there’s an odd tone to his voice, almost confused. “But we’re speaking Gaian, not--”

Then he cuts himself off and rapidly pales.

“We’re not speaking Gaian.” Genesis whispers the words, and there is terror in that voice. A cold fear that, even after such a short time having known him, seemed so terribly out of place on this proud, fiery man. _“We’re not speaking Gaian,”_ he repeats with a sort of horror, and Hermione exchanges a glance with Professor Lupin, the both of them unsure in the face of this sudden change.

Then, with a move that is sharp and quick, Genesis snaps his gaze to Professor Lupin. There is something panicked in his gaze, something wild in his eyes, and he is still so pale. His fingers grip the armrest of his wheelchair tightly enough the leather creeks under his grip. _“Occlumency.”_ He hisses the word. “Do you know how to learn it?”

“I- uh-” Lupin stammers, reeling back at the intensity of Genesis’ gaze. His eyes are glowing brighter than usual, an eerie blue glow.

“You didn’t realize you were speaking modern English?” Hermione tries to wrap her mind around that concept. Was it possible that while Harry’s memories, his episodic memory, was gone, his semantic memory remained? Did Genesis remember anything else Harry knew, and simply not realize he remembered, or was it just language? Was it simply that language was the first piece of Harry that returned after being suppressed, or was there something else going on here? She didn’t have enough information. She’d have to research previous cases of reincarnation more thoroughly.

“What do you think?” Genesis snaps as he turns to glare at Hermione instead of the Professor, and _oh,_ that is a bit frightening, the way his eyes shone. But even if Genesis didn’t remember being Harry, or only remembered bits and pieces, he was still her friend, and Hermione hates seeing panic on her friend’s face.

“Genesis, calm down,” she says as she tries to remember everything she knows about occlumency. It is a mental art, she knows that much. She is fairly certain it’s about organizing the mind which--Ah. That’s why Genesis is asking about it. His Healer must have mentioned it. “Professor, do you think this Library has any books on occlumency?” It is the Black Library, after all. They are a very old pureblood family, and a dark one at that. It wouldn’t surprise her to find out they had books on mental arts as well as dark arts.

Lupin looks thoughtful. “It might,” he says, standing. “Let’s take a look.”

Genesis eyes the both of them, before huffing and relaxing into his wheelchair. He seems more agitated than before, however. Restless, almost. He reminds Hermione a bit of a ruffled cat, which is a bad comparison to make when he’d seemed to scared a moment before.

Hopefully, they’d be able to find something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Did _NOT._ Want to get written. Like. Dear gods, why. It's also shorter than I'd like it to be, but in all honesty I'd just like to stop looking at it now. 
> 
> One of the things that's always bothered me about the SOLDIER Reincarnation fics, as well as a good number of other reincarnation and crossover fics, is that language never seems to be an issue. They always just 'happen' to know the same language. It's unrealistic and annoying that no one ever seems to address those issues, so I wanted to bring it up here. Let me know how I did?


End file.
